


La Cosa Nostra

by velvetmornings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Mafia AU, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-05-18 09:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetmornings/pseuds/velvetmornings
Summary: The Blade of Marmora’s commander-in-chief, Takashi Shirogane, wants a certain Blue Lion dead. Keith accidentally gets caught in his crosshairs.Lance was a wanted man, that much was clear.He had set Keith and Shiro, and by extension the Blade of Marmora, up for the same weapons delivery. Meaning, not only did he get twice his money’s worth, he had screwed them both over. Leavingthemwith nothing. And leaving Shiro with a sweet, sweet hunger for revenge. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get it.





	1. I. No, I don't have a gun

**Author's Note:**

> The chapter titles are lyrics from Come As You Are by Nirvana.

A swoop of bleached blond hair was visible from above the man’s shoe slammed into Keith’s face. The skid and the dirt of the sole presses up and against the cartilage of Keith’s nose, till he could taste his own blood in his eyes. It was horrid, the boot. And Keith knew he must be mad to be wearing a cloak of that caliber. It was ridiculous.

He inspects his assailant from the little that he can see from this angle. _Takashi Shirogane_ , said the words engraved on the curve of metal on his waist. A dagger. Maybe it was stolen.

But then he sees it, the blue symbol as sharp as it is curved: The Blade of Marmora.

Of _fucking_ course. Only Keith could get kicked in the face in the midst of what’s supposed to be the safest part of the city. And by a cutthroat no less.

Takashi Shirogane grins, leaning forward to inspect Keith’s one bright, purple eye that wasn’t currently obscured by his boot. The movement causes Shirogane’s weight to press even further into his face and a groan to ripple through Keith in spite of himself.

“Do you mind?” Keith says, or tries to anyway. The heel is in the way.

“ _Do_ I?” Shirogane replies, with an arrogance only a man that has the other half of the conversation pinned to the ground beneath him is allowed to have.

“Could you kindly take your foot off my face?” But he doesn’t hear him, or at least pretends not to. Instead, the pain in his face splinters and splits, worsening impossibly so.

“Cut the shit. Where’s Blue?”

“What?” _Blue?_ Keith thought. Maybe it was code, but then again he wondered if Shirogane was smart enough for that, considering he had his full name engraved on his weapon in plain sight. Maybe that was the novelty of it all. Maybe he didn’t care.

“You know who.”

“I truly don’t.”

“Lance. Lance McClain.”

 _Fuck._ What had Lance gotten himself into to be wanted by a cutthroat? And just his luck that he was caught in the middle of it.

“I don’t know where he is. I was supposed to meet him here.” Keith says, raising his arms up in surrender. “We’re not even friends. I was meeting him for a deal.” Keith adds the last part for good measure, lest he get killed for it.

“A deal for what?” Shirogane asks, conspiratorially tilting his head. With that, he finally relents, the pressure of his foot relieving Keith’s face.

Keith sees white for a moment as his eyes adjust, but it doesn’t take long. He takes the opportunity to seize Shiro’s ankle, flipping him over in a maneuver that leaves him on his back and coughing up gravel from the impact. Keith allows himself a grin in his triumph.

Instead of retaliating, Shiro’s eyelids lower into a squint and examines Keith from above him.

“Alright, fair enough.”

-

Desperation is a funny thing. It can make you obtain the pretense of joining a covert crime syndicate in hopes of having warm food waiting at the other end of the road. But Keith was ripe out of options.

Essentially homeless, he had recently legally endowed the title of orphan after his father was reckless enough to go along and get himself killed.

When a beautiful man turns up and offers him, not only a job, but a cause? Who would he be if he turned it down? The answer is _still_ _homeless_.

But it was enough to convince Keith to follow Shirogane to an alley glowing with fluorescent lights—every instinct of his firing at once that something was _wrong_ , and deeply so. It reeked of cigarettes and gun powder and shit.

But Shiro doesn’t respond to the desperation. Not at first.

 _Desperation doesn’t breed loyalty,_ he had said.

 _What does?_ Keith asked, grinding the pen clasped between his teeth.

_Admiration._

_But that takes time._

_I guess we’ll see about that._

They peruse through the alley far enough until the drops of rain trickling off rooftops look black in the dimness. The streets of London shimmering with ink puddles.

Keith’s fingers twitch in anticipation as his mind runs through the possible shitfests he’s just gotten himself into. His best case scenario is that he’d end up dead in some alley not dissimilar to this one. He’s not too put off by that idea. His prospects were the same whether he had taken this offer or not.

They walk until they reach a metal door seemingly no different than all the rest—at first.

Shiro reaches up and taps lightly on the side of the door. A blue square lighting up from where he touches and emits a soft glow with a faint outline of a hand.

Keith’s mind reels with the amount of money this organization must have to afford this sort of technology. It’s unfathomable considering the red tape necessary to obtain it. It’s beyond money that they have, it’s influence.

A chill goes through Keith that's bone-deep, aching for the sound the door will make when it opens at Shiro’s touch. He’s as scared as he is delighted.  

Shiro must have seen Keith’s reaction because he grins cheekily before finally resting his bionic hand on the glowing square. And waits.

And then—nothing happens.

Somehow that’s worse, because it’s no longer the fear about what’s _behind_ the door, but about what’s in front of it. Keith’s hand hovers at the knife on his waist. Shiro may be bigger, but Keith is faster. He can take him out if he needs to.

Shiro, seemingly unfazed, pulls out a silver, little flip phone from his back pocket and punches in a number. A burner, Keith guesses. He sneaks a glance at Keith in the rain, and raises his eyebrows once—like this is a common inconvenience. Like Keith would know.

“I’m locked out again,” he yells through the receiver without greeting. Keith hears some incessant babbling on the other end, and Shiro responds by releasing the device from between his shoulder and jaw and flipping the phone the finger.

He shuts the phone with an audible crack.

“Don’t tell her I did that,” Shiro says, as the door finally clicks open. He pushes it the remaining way and steps over the threshold, gesturing at Keith to follow.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it absolutely wasn’t this.

It was a cell service store, long closed and abandoned now. _IGF Mobile_. The pink of the neon sign glows sickly in the darkness.

A woman materializes in the dimness. With a white button up shirt and a smile that blinds, the name _Veronica_ engraved neatly on her name tag.

“Galra shit.” Veronica says, nipping at the tip of her pen. Her eyes trail them as they enter, skidding over Keith like he’s merchandise. His blood runs cold from the glare and her words. “Your arm,” she says, reaching forward till her pen taps the gleaming metal of Shiro’s artificial bicep.

“What is this?” Keith hears himself say, his fingertips gliding over the smartphones on display.

“A front,” Shiro answers simply.

“You work for a phone store, but you own a flip phone?” He pulls a phone off one of the display tables for good measure, and the elastic connecting to it whirls with the motion. Shiro merely grins.

“Veronica,“ she says, tipping her head at Keith and eyeing him from above her glasses. He lets go of the phone and it snaps back into place.

“I know,” he says, motioning to her name tag, “Keith. Nice to meet you.” He reaches his hand out to shake hers.

“Aw, the stray cat has manners.”

“I don’t need him to have manners, Vero. I need him to be useful.” Shiro says. He pats Keith on the shoulder as he passes him.

“Great, Shiro. Nice to see you, too.” Veronica quips, sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he still rounds the table that separates them and gives her a hug so tight it lifts her off the ground.

“So, Keith,” He says turning to him, his arm staying wrapped around Veronica’s shoulders, “This is Veronica McClain. She’s our communications expert. She handles communication between other mobs, between subgroups of the Blade, as well as information. Namely, locations and persons of interest. She likes to _call_ herself our communications expert, but she’s really just a glorified receptionist.” Veronica punches Shiro on the arm for that last comment. “And she’s also Lance’s sister.”

-

Lance was a wanted man, that much was clear.

He had set Keith and Shiro, and by extension the Blade of Marmora, up for the same weapons delivery. Meaning, not only did he get twice his money’s worth, he had screwed them both over. Leaving _them_ with nothing. And leaving Shiro with a sweet, sweet hunger for revenge. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get it.

“And this is why you always pay up front,” Allura says, flicking the hologram of Lance off that had him staring at them with an impish grin and freshly acquired face tattoos.

“He wasn’t exactly lenient about that,” Shiro replies stiffly. No amount of name tags or rank pulling would be as telling as the way Shiro tensed up when Veronica told them Allura wanted to see them in her office. Allura was the Big Boss if there was any honor amongst thieves. And clearly there was.

“He had never done this before.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted you with this.”

 _“Trusted_ me?” Shiro says, “This was a routine procedure and you know it. I would’ve sent a Jag to get it, if Lance didn’t have blood in the game.”

“Do you know how much the Blue Lion’s supply would’ve been worth to us?”

“Incalculable,” Shiro admits, with a grimace that makes it look like it took physical effort.

Allura finally meets his eye in a bleeding stare. Her hand still hovering above her face with tremble that indicated anger more than fear and whispers, “Get out.”

-

Shiro unwraps and rewraps the bandages of his left hand. Keith has come to realize this was his version of a nervous tick. Notable by the identical white bandages wrapped around his right knee that were worn and torn on the edges from the constant handling.

“We’re in deep shit,” Shiro says. He shuts the metal door with a slam and it vibrates with the effort. He kicks at it backwards like it might not have closed properly.

A shudder rips through Keith from the noise and from adjusting to the cool night air again. They were back in the alleyway.

Shiro takes out a silver lighter, cupping his hands around the flame to light a cigarette he had materialized from his coat pocket.

“I figured as much,” Keith says, huffing into his hands.

“I need you in on this with me. And I mean, _really_ ,” Shiro says. A puff of smoke escapes from Shiro’s pink lips as he leans his head against the brick, exposing the veins of his neck that line it. “The usual procedure is that you’d start as a Jag, running errands and doing stupid shit. But if you’re half as talented as you say you are, you’ll be a valuable asset.”

“What do you need me to do?”

He meets his eyes for his next words.

“I need you to find and kill Lance McClain.” The statement sounds so intimate somehow. They had just met a few hours ago, but it’s posed like a bond of trust between them should already exist. A bond Keith has just broken.

When they start walking again, the rain has resumed—so cold the drops feel like frozen pellets on Keith’s skin. An omen, perhaps.

“So why did you really want to join the Blade?”

“Would you believe me if I said morbid curiosity?” Keith replies, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Shiro huffs, and he can’t tell if it’s smoke or condensation from the cold.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve made it this far, thanks so much for reading! Would love to hear feedback in anyway you can supply it. Kudos, comments, etc. I’ll attempt to update in a timely manner. We’ll see how long that lasts. Much love, x.


	2. II. As a known enemy

Keith’s watch read 2:32 AM. His teeth chattered as he waited in the cold and wet night. He reminded himself of the history of the Blade of Marmora that Veronica had rattled off to him once—reminding himself why he was here. 

In short, the Blade of Marmora was a thing born of necessity—an organization of the lower class as a response to the current state of things. But the anger of deviants and outcasts was a dangerous thing, if not tamed correctly. 

That’s where Shiro came in. He welded them to work for him and against the system. He had his hand in drugs and contraband and the like, arming and supplying those that had been disadvantaged by the Galra. A gang with a cause. 

If the Robin Hood legend didn’t already exist, Keith is sure the Blade of Marmora would’ve taken his place—if there was less murder involved in this line of work, that is. 

Contracts, that’s where the real money came in. A contract on someone’s life. 

 _Death certificates_ , Shiro had dubbed them, because that was the level of guarantee they had if the BOM were called for the job. _We keep our customers happy_ , Shiro had said with a grin. 

But Shiro, like any of them, was merely a cog in a much larger machine. A machine Allura was at the helm of. 

She had inherited the deed from her father, in a gross form of nepotism that landed her to become infamously known as _Princess Allura_. But a coup was no option. When Keith had suggested as much, Shiro insisted Allura was the only one meant for the job. Keith never touched that point again. 

The Blade had a version of a headquarters, but it was _never_ called that. He had learned that the hard way. When Keith let it slip once, Shiro had snorted so loud Keith had thought he’d choked. 

_You make us sound like MI6._

Despite this, he overheard Shiro shorthand it as HQ once over the phone. He could see him sneak a glance at Keith in his peripheral like he was afraid he’d heard him. He had.

Keith noted more than once that the BOM were obsessed with nicknames. It was a fucking Thing. 

Shiro was known as the Black Lion, reasons Keith had yet to pry out of him for. 

Starters or fresh recruits were known as Jags or Jaguars. They were fresh meat and Keith thanked his lucky stars every day he never had to go through that phase. They were torn to pieces, Jags—and no that’s not meant to be a pun. Keith had jumped several rungs of the ladder simply because he was lucky enough to meet the man that could get him there. 

At first, Keith was known as Pet, he learned too late that it was because he followed Shiro around mercilessly—constantly. It didn’t help that Shiro treated him like one. 

 _Are you constantly injured or do you just like wearing those?_ Keith had asked him one day, fingertips grazing the edges of the bandages on Shiro’s knee. 

Shiro had just looked at him like a menace and said absolutely nothing. It infuriated him. 

Shiro lived to make him angry, Keith noticed that too. 

That night, Keith’s phone—supplied by IGF Mobile for free, mind you—had bleared with Shiro’s name flashing on the screen in the middle of the night. He knew then that this would be the true test of whether he’d keep the name of Shiro’s _Pet_ forever.

“What?” He gruffed, with as much strength as one could conjure after being woken up.

“I need you.” 

Keith knew, inherently, what he had meant. Not in _that_ way surely, it was a business call. He knew as much and reminded himself as much. And _yet_ …

“When can you get here?” Shiro continued when he was met with silence.

“I’m not ready.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come as you are.”

And with that, the line disconnected. And Keith was left staring into the dark alone.

That’s how Keith finds himself back in the cold, dark alley in the London chill at half past two in the morning. 

He hauled ass there after managing to flag down a cab. Sixteen minutes, four left turns and a right and here he was. He kept track to keep his teeth from gnawing a hole in his cheek on his way here. 

He knocks on the metal slab they call a door out of habit, before swiping his hand on the detector. 

When he enters he can hear Shiro whistling from the storage room. His formless tune echoing off the high ceilings. 

Keith crosses the space in quick strides, leaning over the door frame of the storage room when he reaches it. 

The shelves are stacked high with boxes. The room is tiny but the ceilings make up for it by being twice as tall as Shiro. Veronica sits on a stack of boxes on the floor and she’s the one that spots Keith first. 

She was still in her IGF uniform, the very image of consumerism. The boxes she was sitting on were also stamped with the logo. With a twiddle of her fingers, she waves at him and kicks Shiro behind his knee. His legs buckle and he makes a show of pretending like it hurt.

He’s wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans. Thin purple sunglasses adorn his face, even though it’s 2 AM and the sun is barely even a thought in anyone’s head let alone eyes.

“Careful now.” Shiro says, as he rubs his thigh and rewraps the bandage that circles it. He looks up to see where Veronica was trying to steer his attention toward. To Keith. Keith tries to ignore the hum and warmth of blood that rushes to the back of his neck. “You made it.”

“Loyal pet, isn’t he?”

“Shut up, Veronica.” Shiro says, keeping his eyes level with his. Shiro reaches forward and cups Keith’s jaw like he’s a dog and Shiro’s inspecting his teeth. “You look like hell,” he says, letting his hand drop. 

“Thanks.”

Shiro spins back around and gestures for them to follow him to the phone displays. Veronica takes a stack of boxes with her to sit on.

He goes on to detail the circumstances of their mission, circling around the aisles and counters and periodically picking a phone up and putting it back down. 

The mission was supposed to be lowkey. They were essentially supposed to rob a man known as Sendak—kill anyone that gets in their way, if necessary. Alone.

Together, but alone. Veronica would be their eyes and ears from HQ—he doesn’t say it this time. 

She makes some joke about every missile needing a guidance system. But Keith wasn’t listening. Shiro detailing the process made his eyes glaze over and his mind to go elsewhere

Keith’s first contract on the job. He was ecstatic. 

But Keith’s high is quickly ruined by Veronica’s next words, “Maybe you should take Pidge.”

“Good idea,” is Shiro’s reply.

Perverse, perverted, and prevented all at once.

“I’ll go call her,” Shiro says, already materializing his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

When he’s out of the room, Keith finds his voice again.

“So who’s Sendak anyway?”

“Lance’s supplier,” Veronica states. Keith notices she keeps her voice light on his name, like if she says it with too much feeling her lips might burn.

“About that…” Keith asks, his voice gaining a softer lilt now. “How do you feel about all of this?” 

“My brother’s a traitor and an idiot.” 

“You didn’t answer me.” 

“I don’t _get_ to feel anything, Keith.” 

There’s a pause before he speaks again. 

“Maybe you don’t get to. Doesn’t mean you don’t.”

“We’ll meet Pidge there,” Shiro says, as he enters the room again. His voice travels in the vacant space, echoing.

“There?” Veronica asks, kicking up from where she sits. The boxes shake with the motion, tittering near collapse. 

Shiro’s eyebrows raise expectantly.

“Yeah,” he says, like it was obvious. 

“Shiro, I won’t be able to give her the communicator.” 

“I’ll give it to her,” he says. His hand uncurls in front of him, like she’ll hand it to him right then. They have a staring contest for several seconds before she sighs and finally gives in. 

“Fine, but don’t you dare fuck it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Veronica goes into the darkness of the storage room again, presumably to obtain these communicators. 

When she emerges it’s revealed that these devices are tiny, little things that go into your ear. So much so that Keith’s scared they’ll just fall right in if he so much as makes the wrong move. 

When he expresses as much, Veronica snorts saying Shiro’s the only one that should be worried since it would just fall right in and out the other side—just like everything else.

Shiro doesn’t entertain that comment with an answer.

-

Keith and Shiro meet Pidge a couple of blocks from the target destination. She’s leaning against what he can only assume is her car. It's sleek and shiny and gorgeous. 

Shiro doesn’t give the courtesy of introducing them. She merely greets Keith with a nod, and Shiro with a grin and a “Hey.” 

Keith knows well enough that the Jags will coalesce wherever Shiro pleases at his beck and call. And the lack of manpower on this mission felt obvious. The scene felt vacant and much too quiet. 

He’s been on less imperative missions with more souls. But Shiro had explained to Keith that this mission in particular was too high risk to bring in inexperienced recruits.

Keith _almost_ reminded him then that he might qualify as inexperienced, but held his tongue.

“The place will be surrounded by Sendak’s henchmen so we’ll have to stay on alert,” Pidge says, taking out a pack of gum and offering some to them silently. They both decline. 

“Pidge already has a drone that’ll keep Veronica in the loop and therefore us,” Shiro says, handing Pidge the communicator. “Keith, I know this is your first time so stay close.”

That set Pidge off. 

“Oh!” She says, popping her bubblegum dramatically. “So you’re a viiirginnnn.” She slurs the last word like they’re in grade school. 

“How does it feel to have Shiro pop your cherry,” Pidge says, cocking her head and turning to Keith with bright eyes. 

 _This was going to be fun_ , Keith thought ironically. 

-

Veronica later informs them that Sendak’s men surround the perimeter about every hundred meters—and cameras are _everywhere_. But she’s found a blind spot that could be their in. 

According to her observations, there were fifteen guards tops. They’d just have to cut through them and they’d be through.

Keith was clutching his sword at his waist with more strength than he should’ve. He wasn’t sure how ready he was to use it. His palms sweat where the hilt touches it. 

They sleuth across the walls of the building per Veronica’s instructions through the earpiece. 

The building was a warehouse among other things, but it was obviously used for storage. He just knows it was _huge_ , and Sendak must’ve bought the surrounding properties as well to expand it even further. Some portions were still under construction. It was the very picture of sketchy. It was dangerous. 

Somehow in the scuffle of preparation and getting into position Keith ends up leading them. Now, Pidge and Shiro trail behind, whispering words to each other that Keith only catches glimpses of. He hears the word _Galra_ at one point until a thought occurs to him. 

“Sendak’s Galra?” Keith asks, turning to Shiro and trying to maintain the volume they were speaking at. 

“Lance was working for them,” Shiro says, with a nod toward Keith. _Eyes forward_ , it meant. Keith obliges. 

“I thought the Blade of Marmora specialized in rebelling against them. Why would he help the Blade—the very group the Galra are fighting?”

“Money, I suppose. Lance was never much for honor,” Shiro replies, edging closer so his breath hits the back of Keith’s neck.  

“No amount of money in the world would get me to work for Galra.” Keith whispers, mostly to himself. He doesn’t expect the answer he receives.

“He doesn’t know, does he? You haven’t told him,” Pidge’s voice reverberates through the earpiece. Veronica must’ve turned the sound on between them.

When he turns back around, Pidge’s eyes are on Shiro. 

“Told me what?” Keith says, ignoring Veronica’s urges to keep quiet.

“Just forget it, alright Keith?” Shiro responds, not meeting his eye.

“Don’t you think I have a right to know what I’m a part of.”

Pidge gives Shiro another meaningful look, but Shiro seems unbothered by it.

“You’re asking too many questions again, Kogane.”

Pidge laughs and Keith swallows his embarrassment, facing forward again. 

-

They continue slinking around the building, but before they have the chance to enter Veronica speaks up again.

“We chose the wrong night, guys. There’s a delivery happening, I think. I can’t see into one of the rooms,” Veronica says. And then suddenly, “Watch out! There’s—” A crackle and then dead air. A firefight erupts. 

They must’ve been spotted. 

Gunshots fly past them causing the concrete of the walls to erupt in clouds of dust. This wasn’t the work of fifteen men, this felt like an _army_. 

He smells barbeque and he realizes that may be the gunpowder. He never thought death and violence would smell so appetizing. 

A ringing slices through Keith’s ear, and he claws at it until the earpiece falls out and the ringing stops. 

When he finds his bearings again, he can hear Shiro screaming. He lunges, taking his gun and aiming it at the sniper Keith can see was aimed at him. The sniper goes down in a flash of red. 

Shiro turns to him and he sees him mouth the word, _Go._ Or maybe he says it, he can’t hear anything beyond the chaos of guns and orders being shouted. 

Shiro points beyond him and Keith follows his gaze until he can see what he’s referring to: A truck was leaving the building. He was meant to stop it. Shiro shoves him forward to emphasize the urgency, until his attention is taken elsewhere by more gunshots threatening to tear through flesh.

Keith breaks out into a sprint following the vehicle. 

As he makes toward it, he can see the man in the passenger seat spot him through the side view mirror. The truck accelerates in consequence. Before Keith can think of the fact that the truck can obviously outrun him, another car speeds up from the other side of the road. 

It stops in front of the truck forcing them to brake _hard,_ the tires screeching in protest. Keith spots the shine of the silver sports car—Pidge. 

Keith slashes the truck’s back tires when he reaches it. Then he swings forward until the sword goes through the open window and makes contact with the passenger. Keith opens the truck door, his adrenaline propelling him forward. The driver scrambles with his seatbelt, mouth agape trying to escape. He was noticeably Galra, with bright, purple skin and glowing, yellow eyes. 

Keith rips the blade out of passenger and into the driver before the seatbelt can click out of place. 

 _That’s what he gets for being safe_. 

He wipes the blood off of the silver metal on the leather seat and lets his sword slip back into its sheath. 

Pidge flashes her headlights and honks celebratorily. From this vantage point, he can see Pidge’s white teeth through the tinted windows in a grin. He lets himself smile back. 

-

Keith drives the truck back to where he saw Shiro last. He’s standing in what looks like the remnants of a bloodbath, but he seems relatively unscathed. 

“Veronica says Sendak’s gone. It’s all clear,” Shiro says when Keith walks within earshot.

“So how was it?” 

“How was what?”

Pidge speaks up from behind him, “Baby’s first contract!” she mocks.

Keith rolls his eyes, but laughs anyway. 

“Fine,” he says, then he turns to Shiro. “Are you alright?” 

“Better than ever, buddy,” he replies. 

“And Pidge, how did you get to your car so fast?”

Pidge shrugs haphazardly, “The minute I started to feel things going south, I ran.”

“Perfect,” Shiro says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get the rest of this stuff into the truck, guys.” He starts jogging toward the warehouse like a kid in a candy shop.

“I never even realized you’d left,” Keith says to Pidge as they watch Shiro go inside.

“Because you were too busy looking at Shiro,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all for now. I hope you enjoyed. See you soon x.


	3. III. Soaked in bleach

The precious cargo that Shiro was so eager to get his hands on were firearms. Crates and crates full of firearms. The very ones Lance was meant to give to him, and then some.

Pidge was already driving the first round of them in the truck back to HQ.

“You have to arm yourself before you start a war, Keith. And we’re cutting out the middle man,” Shiro says with a grin.

“Is this what this is? A war?” Keith says. He had collapsed on the floor in exhaustion from all of the heavy-lifting. Short bursts of absolute killing and violence he can do. Lifting heavy boxes? Absolutely not.

Shiro drags the last remaining cart of crates toward the back of the room till the momentum causes it to crash to the back wall. He was slick with perspiration. His blond hair curled in loops on his forehead from grease and sweat.

He walks over to the wall nearest to Keith in long strides, sliding down until he’s on the floor at arm’s length from where Keith lay.

Keith takes the opportunity to reach across and push the hair out of Shiro’s face. In response, he tips his head till his grey eyes are revealed from behind his purple-shaded glasses.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks, but it doesn’t sound accusing, just inquisitive.

Keith pulls his hand away like he’s been burned.

“Nothing, it just always gets in your face.”

Shiro’s eyes swoop down Keith’s face and up again.

“Okay.” He pushes his glasses back up and Keith knows that’s the end of it.

-

IGF Mobile serves as a black market of sorts. Shiny, pretty, colorful, epilepsy, vomit-inducing cell phones in the forefront. They sell to the money hungry and ditzy population of London that are too stupid to realize the very devices they think give them freedom are the very ones keeping them prisoner. To the Galra and to themselves. At least, according to Hunk.

The first time Hunk detailed this to Keith, he thought he was on some acid and cocaine bender that made the tinfoil hat of conspiracy permanently fuse to his brain.

Turns out he was just really smart and really good with computers.

Hunk was one of the many people in charge of reprogramming the devices supplied to IGF and repurposing them to not serve as tiny peepholes into people's lives. These versions were sold in the back of the store, through dark passageways, covert money exchanges, and secret codes.

But this Big Brother-type deity Hunk commonly—lovingly referred to as, The Empire, was only the tip of the iceberg.

But that’s for another info dump.

“The Lion and the Wolf,” Vero mocks, when they walk into IGF. It’s daytime and the place is swarming with customers, a sharp contrast from the eerie deserted-ness he usually sees it in past closing.

Keith had graduated to Wolf—Veronica had reverted to calling him _Pet_ Wolf but it was definitely an improvement, especially when said in tandem with Shiro’s nickname.

He couldn’t help the boast of confidence it gave him when Shiro had smiled at him knowingly saying Hunk had coined it.

That was a lie, it was Shiro. He wasn’t sure if it was pity or something else, but he was grateful nonetheless.

 _Can’t deny the resemblance_ , Shiro had said, grabbing hold of his jaw again like days prior.

After a moment, his hold had become gentler, till Shiro was stroking Keith’s jaw with only his thumb in a gesture Keith could almost mistake for affection. And then it was gone.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Shiro says now, clapping a hand on Veronica’s back.

“Love you too, babe,” she throws over her shoulder, before shaking him off and assisting a customer.

“Keith, I have to ask for a favor,” Shiro says, after they walk some distance away from the crowd.

“Can I refuse?” he asks playfully, a smile tugging at his lips as he pretends to swipe through a phone on display like he might buy it.

“No,” is Shiro’s reply.

“Then it’s not a favor,” Keith says.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“I thought that’s what you paid me for,” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like an insult but he can see that it bites like one anyway. Shiro flinches.

He can’t help it, Keith’s heard the rumors. Swirling around HQ like a swarm of mosquitos, maybe potentially harmless but a nuisance nonetheless.

The rumor was that he was going to get demoted, because he wasn’t fit enough for the frontlines. All talk and no walk. It had made Keith’s skin burn with more than just anger when Veronica had told him. She’s the handler of more than just precious intel it seems.

“Yeah, you know that’s not true,” Shiro replies, closing his eyes like if he waits long enough this might drift away like a dream.

“Do I?” Keith says, continuing to go down the line of phones. He contemplates breaking one, risking if maybe Shiro might make him pay for it. He almost does it until Shiro speaks again.

“Sendak’s having a party,” Shiro says, looking beyond Keith and through the windows of the store that overlooked the road. His eyes trail the cars as they pass.

“Fun,” Keith says, sarcastically.

“We’re going.”

“What?” he shouts, louder than he needs to. Then he remembers where they are and lowers his voice. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s gonna be at his mansion,” Shiro says.

“ _Mansion,_ ” Keith spits, with more disgust than he intends.

“You get a shit ton of cash as an arms dealer in a world where weapons are a necessity but priced as a luxury,” he leans forward as he whispers. “We’re thinking Lance could be there.”

They shouldn’t be having this conversation here.

“Isn’t Lance in exile and on the run? What would he be doing at some party?”

“Trust me, I know Lance. He’s just had a massive amount of cash flow come in and he’ll take any excuse to celebrate. No man can resist spending the money he didn’t earn,” Shiro says, pointedly. When Keith still looks unconvinced, Shiro continues. “Look, maybe he won’t be there. But if we can take Sendak down in the process, it'll be a plus. And its open bar.”

Then Shiro smiles with his whole face and it’s so contagious Keith can’t help but do that same.

He can never stay mad at him for long.

-

He doesn’t have a tux. That’s the first realization that comes into Keith’s head after agreeing to do the party. He doesn’t have a tux and he doesn’t have the money to rent a tux.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck it up this time,” Allura says, when Shiro tells her about the party. “I’m going with you.”

“I don’t need a chaperone,” Shiro says, sighing like he’s a teenager getting reprimanded.

“Yes, you do,” She says.

And that’s the end of it because she leaves before Shiro can argue the point again.

Shiro throws him a look, and Keith holds up a finger like he might try to convince her if he lets him. But that wasn’t his plan at all.

“Allura!” Keith shouts, when he corners her down the hall far enough away from Shiro. She looks up and her eyes are shining with something akin to annoyance, but Keith goes on.

“I was just gonna say… the dress code apparently, is ‘black tie optional’. I don’t have a black tie or the optional part, so I’ll have to rent one,” Keith says. His hands are shaking. He’s never had to ask for anything before. “I was thinking I might uh… get reimbursed because it’s for business and—”

“Shut up. This isn’t Google,” Allura cuts him off. “I’ll get you the tux.”

He lets out a wry laugh and a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Allura,” he manages. But she’s gone.

-

_Send the tuxedo back to this address after the party._

_Regards, Allura._

“Regards,” Keith repeats, after reading the note aloud to Veronica. “Do you think she likes me?” He asks, looking up at her smirking face. He’s only half-joking.

“Tons,” She says, kicking her feet up onto Keith’s table. They were at his flat, if you were lenient enough to call it that. The chair she was sitting at and the table she had at her feet, were the few pieces of furniture Keith owned. It was sparse to say the least, but it was home.“She wouldn’t be sending you on this mission if she didn’t at least trust you,” Veronica says, and now she sounds sincere.

“Should I try it on?” Keith asks, holding up the tux as delicately as he can. The tissue paper it was wrapped in crinkles with the motion.

Veronica shrugs but she’s trying to hide a smile, so he takes that as a yes.

A couple of minutes and a struggle with the bowtie later and Keith is standing in front of his bathroom mirror, Veronica peaking over his shoulder behind him.

“You look hot!” She shouts, and then covers her mouth when she hears someone _Woop!_ in response on the other side of the wall. “What the hell was that?”

“That’s just my neighbor. He’s an old man named Coran,” Keith says, adjusting the tuxedo’s lapels and let’s admit it—admiring his reflection. He raises his hand for his next words in a faux-whisper. “He has five cats.”

Veronica snorts, like truly and properly snorts.

“‘Nuff said,” She says. A beat passes and she flops down on the closed toilet dramatically. She looks like she’s deep in thought, her eyes getting starry.“God, once I see Lance I’m gonna scream at him for being so stupid.”

It’s Keith’s turn to snort. But then something tugs at him in his chest.

He realizes too late that its guilt.

-

He takes a cab to the party. He probably shouldn’t, he knows. He can just picture the line of luxury cars parked next to the house—mansion—as he pulls up in a shabby little cab.

When he arrives, his worst nightmares come true. The mansion is as big as they say, and more. And the line of luxury cars are made up of things more expensive than he could’ve dreamed up.

He tries to exit the cab as inconspicuously as he can.

He spots Shiro and Allura, unmistakable in the crowd of black-tie attire. They were both wearing white, each with their silver hair to match.

They looked like twin flames and Keith had forgotten the memo.

Two pillars of light and warmth.

Shiro is leaning against the wall next to the entrance, his black dress shirt in stark contrast to the rest of his clothes. He’s smoking as usual.

Allura is swaying lazily next to him in high heels and a long satin dress. A champagne flute swings in her hands.

“Hey, strangers,” Keith says, when he approaches. “Fancy seeing you here.”

But Shiro’s not listening. He pushes off the wall in a swift motion.

“Come here,” he says. Shiro tugs at Keith’s collar a little too hard, pulling him forward.

He unties the bowtie with an unfurling motion and tucks the black fabric into his own coat pocket. It peaks out like a pocket square—like it was always meant to be there.

He readjusts Keith’s collar until he’s satisfied.

”It looks better that way. Sexier.”

“What?” Keith replies, almost in tandem with Shiro saying: “Right, Allura?”

“Sure,” Allura deadpans.

The party transpires somewhat uneventfully. Shiro and Keith swim through the crowd spying on the guests and watching out for information about their persons of interests. Most are too drunk to notice.

The house was large and elaborate. It looked like a Greek architectural fever dream, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if he found out the structure used to be a museum. The ceilings were high and pillars were thick and ornate.

The main room for where the party was held had evidently been cleared out for the event. It had an elevated stage for the musical acts, ranging from sauve female singers to sprawling saxophone players—not all of which were human.

He tries not to let Shiro’s _sexier_ comment consume his every thought, focusing his instead concentration to the task at hand.

He’s shook out of his reverie when Shiro says his name.

“We have something,” he says, and gestures behind him. Keith hears shattering in the distance before he can reply.

A fight ensues, but not the way he’s used to. There’s no gunshots, no big and burly men, and no blood that he can tell. Not yet.

He spins to find that the source of the noise was the shattering of champagne flutes, a huge tower of them just like in the movies.

“Stop it! I’m going to kill you!”

“Not if I kill you first,” the response came from a tiny blonde woman in a shimmering blue dress. Her hair was pinned up in butterfly pins and the man that threatened to kill her was trying to pull them out.

From across the room he sees a swirl of satin at the sound of the blonde’s voice. It was Allura heading this way, her eyes alight with recognition.

“Romelle?” she shouts, just as she urges away an old man that was ogling her. 

“Allura?” The woman, Keith now knows is named Romelle, says from across the room. The ice sculpture she had ready to strike in her hand drops to the floor, her mouth splitting into a grin. “How are you, babe?”

Allura jogs toward her and for a second they’re the only two people in the room.

“I don’t have time to explain but…” Allura takes a breath like she just remembered she needs to breathe, “I need to find Sendak.”

“Did we just recruit someone else?” Keith says to Shiro, leaning into his space. He has to tiptoe to reach his ear. Shiro raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t take his eyes off of them.

“It’s not like you’re much help,” Shiro replies, and finally he sneaks a glance at Keith. He knows he’s joking because his eyes are sparkling with mirth.

“Sendak, really? You’ve lowered your standards, love,” Allura says. She starts walking away from the crowd and makes a flicking motion with her hand, presumably gesturing at Keith and Shiro to follow her. The man Romelle was threatening moments ago, stands frozen in Romelle’s wake, mouth agape.

“Did Allura and her date?” Keith whispers. They head in their direction, but keep their distance all the same. This moment was clearly not meant to be shared.

Shiro shrugs in an answer that Keith can only perceive as: _Apparently._

He’s not sure if it’s fate, destiny, or _deus ex machina_ , but Sendak appears right then. He walks out from door at the other end of the room that feels like a mile.

A butter knife goes flying by Sendak’s face, only to land tip first in the opposite wall. It was Allura that had faster reflexes than them all.

“Kill a man in his own house,” he tsks, “Tasteless.” Sendak seems unfazed, like he was expecting this. The armed Galra men that come to stand stoic and at attention beside him only further this point.

Shiro takes his gun out of his jacket and shoots his gun upward, making his way toward Sendak. It causes the sunroof to shatter and glass to sprinkle down like rain. The remainder of party guests scatter and Keith realizes he’s trying to protect them.

As much of a hard ass as Shiro tries to makes himself out to be, he still has a soft spot for people.

Before that thought can even cement, however, Shiro grabs hold of Sendak roughly and chucks him to the floor before he can regain his composure.

Shiro’s dress shoe presses neatly into Sendak’s face, holding his arms back with an almost lazy grip.

Both of Sendak’s men step forward like they might just try to stop Shiro, Keith flicks his dagger up as a warning.

He shakes his head: _Bad idea._

It’s a plain and simple weapon, essentially just a strip of metal with cloth wrapped at the other end as a makeshift handle. It’s leftovers from Keith’s harsher days—when he was alone— but it’s never let him down.

The mansion was clearing out now, the guests leaving in a frenzy to escape the promised onslaught with ringing gunfire.

“Where’s Lance?” Shiro says, leaning forward so Sendak’s cheekbone smashes against the marble floor.

“Hmm, deja vu,” Keith mutters, dipping the tip of his knife into his finger just before the point of drawing blood.

One of Sendak’s bodyguards had a cracked blue scar where his left eye should be. In that moment, he chokes. A kitchen knife blooms in his abdomen, and rips back out with a sickening sound.

Allura never brings her own actual weapons to a fight, Keith learned that that day. She was her own weapon or she found one.

The man drops to the floor like a stone only to reveal Allura standing on the other side. She had a wicked grin on her face as she watched—transfixed as Romelle kills the other man in the same fashion.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sendak replies from the floor still.

“Wrong answer,” Shiro says. His shoe crunches down further.

“Maybe we can work together. You know what they say,” Sendak groans, his mouth twisting in a painful grimace.“Your enemy’s enemy is your friend.”

“Frankly, Sendak. I don’t want to be your friend,” And he knocks him out with the butt of his gun.

-

 _Cut off the head of the snake,_ Shiro said as he slit Sendak’s throat, _and the body dies._

He put the knife back at his waist. It was a bluish-grey, the hilt adorned an unusual shape. The Blade of Marmora symbol gleamed in it’s details, with _Takashi Shirogane_ engraved in silver letters on the edge of the blunt side. It was _the_ knife he noticed on him the first day.

When Keith met Shiro, it only made an impression because of the flaunting of his affiliation with the Blade. But now upon pondering it even further, its presence at his waist is even stranger.

He’d never seen him use it. He’s never seen Shiro with anything but a gun. And Keith realizes he likely doesn’t know Shiro as well as he thought.

When they’re on their way back home in a stretched, black limo, the leather seats smell faintly of blood. Property of the Blade apparently. Keith hadn’t been informed and silently ruminates in the fact his cab incident could have very well been avoided.

Shiro sits beside him, his attention taken up by the phone in his eyes as he types away vigorously.

He starts with something simple.

“So how’d you earn the name Black Lion?”

Shiro huffs and makes a face like he’s considering it, putting down the phone momentarily. Keith takes what he says next with a grain of salt.

“Beat a man so bad his blood turned my white clothes black. Needless to say, I don’t wear white anymore,” then a smile overcomes his face in spite of himself. “Except for tonight.”

“Why Lion then?”

Shiro lifts his shoulders and lets them drop again, “Why Wolf?”

He winks and it leaves Keith spiraling till he crashes into his bed that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all for now. I hope you enjoyed! See you soon x.


	4. IV. Memoria

“He wasn’t there,” Keith tells Veronica the next day. Lance wasn’t there and he’s almost relieved to admit it. Keith picks at a button on his shirt, it pops off with a sharp _click_ and he realizes he’s trembling.

“God,” Veronica says, pacing on the stairs. “I’m going to kill him.” They were on the steps leading up to HQ. It looked plain and boring from the outside, all glass windows and sharp angles. This was much to Keith’s dismay. When he first saw it, he was disappointed to say the least. So much potential to be something great, to make something cool. But then he remembered concealment won out to coolness factor. The place looks like any other bureaucratic building, a place where they might hold old police records. The inside was a different story, however.

“No,” Keith says. He almost feels out of his body now, like this is happening to someone else. “Because it’s meant to be me.” He made the decision a long time ago that this was the right thing to do, he just had to be have enough balls to face the consequences. No matter how Veronica reacts, or even Shiro.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Veronica stops her pacing and looks at Keith who is sprawled on the steps below her. She looks like she’s about to rip off her thumbnail with her teeth. He’s nonchalant but his tone is somber. She knew he was serious.

“I’m meant to kill Lance.”

-

“I was thinking about it,” Shiro says, twirling the knife in his hands, the one that had his name engraved on it. “The night at the warehouse should’ve been a perfect ambush.”

They were back at said warehouse. It had since been abandoned, it seemed the Blade’s attack on the place with two and a half people—Pidge being the half—had scared them off.It seems the warehouse had horrible plumbing because the _drip drip drip_ of the water from above was beginning to eat away at Keith’s sanity. They were alone but the creaks and squeaks of the building filled their bouts of silence.

“Someone must’ve tipped them,” Shiro continues. “There were way more men there than we expected, than we saw. But then I remembered, _we_ didn’t see anything. Because we weren’t in charge of surveillance.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Keith says, plopping down on one of the crates. How they got stuck with this grunt level work again, he doesn’t know. Keith is starting to think the Blade of Marmora is not as big as they say it is.

“Veronica was,” Shiro says, looking up. “Veronica tipped them.”

“Shiro, you don’t have a way of knowing if—”

“Don’t I? She’s the only one that has reason to. Lance is her brother, Keith. Sendak was his supplier. We were one step closer to finding him. For all I know he was _there_.”

“Shiro—”

“She was trying to save her brother,” Shiro says, matter-of-factly. Keith’s protests be damned. “But then a horrible thought came to me. Because I never told Veronica I was going to hurt Lance. For all she knew, I was never going to hurt a single hair on his head.”

That causes Keith’s blood to feel like it was drained from his body, and into the crate below him.

“She’s not an idiot. Lance betrayed you and she—”

“Did you tell her, Keith?” He lets out a breath and Shiro asks again. His eyes are burning with something like rage. “Keith did you tell Veronica you were meant to kill Lance?”

“Yes but—” The dagger slices through the air till it lands point first on the opposite wall. Despite Keith’s first instinct to flinch, it landed nowhere near him. He hated the moment he allowed himself to think Shiro would hurt him.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a slight against you,” Keith says, sincerely apologetic.

“Well I’m glad that wasn’t your intention, _dear_. But that’s exactly what it was.” The venom in the word _dear_ hurts more. He might’ve preferred the knife.

“I was trying to help you, Keith,” Shiro continues.“And you go out and do the one thing that would make this end badly for you. You promised me you would help me kill him.”

“I told her because I understand her.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“She has someone she’s willing to risk everything for,” He lets his next words carry as much weight as they should. “The same way I do.”

He maintains eye contact with Shiro so he doesn’t mistake the meaning of his words, the way he knows he means them. Shiro exhales softly and looks down, but Keith can still see the tears wilting his eyes. But then almost like he thinks better of it, he rolls them and that bites the most.

“Is that what I am to you, Keith? A brother?” He almost laughs on the last word.

Keith closes his eyes like he’s whispering a prayer, “No.”

“Say it then, what do you mean?” Shiro’s stance is defiant and yet there’s a quiver in his voice.

“Does it really need saying?”

-

He doesn’t say it then and Shiro doesn’t voice his concerns again. At least not until days later, when they’re in the heat of a fight—an actual one, not the type with stinging words and eye rolls. The type where Keith brings a knife to a gun. But this time around it’s not enough. He’s breathless and panting, and there’s still four guys left to deal with and Shiro’s out of ammo.

From across the room— _hotel_ room, they were in Cairo and it was supposed to only be clean business, _supposed_ to be but things went south quick—the guy Shiro was fighting hand-to-hand with punches him in the stomach and Keith can see the specks of blood that escape his mouth and stain the carpet.

“Keith,” Shiro manages after the impact. Keith gives the girl he was up against one final wack on the head and she does down in a swoop.

“What?” He replies, watching her limp body fall to the ground.

“Grab it,” Shiro says, then he reaches into the holster at his waist and slides Keith the dagger with his name on it. Keith makes a grab for it before Shiro’s assailant can think to try.

The grooves of the hilt slide between his fingers like a glove, like it was made to be there. And it’s a flash, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type of effect, but the blade warps and glows and grows when it makes contact with his skin.

And suddenly he’s not holding Shiro’s dagger in his hand but a full-fledged sword.

He barely has time to contemplate it because the next guy is making a run at him, and he thrusts the sword forward until it goes through the man’s body and out the other side. It’s not until he pulls it back out that he sees Shiro’s face, reddened and sweaty, the man that punched him unconscious at his feet.

“Fuck,” he says simply.

-

“It’s finally found it’s rightful owner.”

“What do you mean it’s _rightful_ owner? I thought it was _yours_!”

“I wasn’t sure, not really. Not until you told me about your dad, the Texan firefighter,” he runs his hand forward through his hair and the ends flatten on his face, making him look years younger. He didn’t fully sound like he was talking to Keith directly, but more like he was talking to himself and Keith just happened to overhear it.

“Shiro, you’re not making any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Keith. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Tell me what sooner,” Keith says evenly.

Shiro was sitting on one of the two double beds in their hotel room, legs wide making Keith regret not telling the receptionist to not _accidentally_ make it a single. But he can’t think of that now.

“Your heritage,” Shiro says, “Your dad married a Galran woman named Krolia. And had _you_.” He says this matter-of-factly, like this wasn’t shattering Keith’s world at his feet.

“My dad? My _dad_? Shiro I told you about my dad months ago. You’ve known for months that I was—” He can’t bring himself to say it, to speak the words.

“You decide what you want to do with that information.” Shiro says, “Blood can mean everything, or nothing.”

Quickly—almost too quickly—he justifies it in his mind. His heritage, Galran or not didn’t matter now so much as what he decided to do with it. His allegiance didn’t change. But he still can’t help feeling like Shiro was an asshole for not telling him sooner.

“Blood doesn’t mean jack-shit to _you_ , apparently.”

“Just because she was Galra doesn’t mean she was bad, Keith. Not everything’s so black and white.”

Keith laughs bitterly. “You’re one to talk”

There’s silence and Keith knows he’s said the wrong thing. He tries to fix it but it’s useless.

“Lance is Veronica’s blood,” Keith says. And he regrets it the second it leaves his mouth.

Shiro’s jaw moves and Keith can almost hear his teeth grinding.

He knows Shiro hasn’t brought it up to Veronica, he knows because Veronica would tell him. He thought they were on that level of trust already, but maybe he ruined that when he mentioned he was meant to kill her brother. Maybe that’s the kind of thing to ruin friendships.

They haven’t spoken since that day. And Shiro and him _have_ spoken but each word feels like dagger to the heart, wading through standing water with jeans on not saying what you really feel. They exchange small talk in low voices and chuckle to break the awkwardness when all Keith really wants to do is grab hold of Shiro’s face between his hands and scream.

This is the first real conversation they’ve had in months.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Shiro says.

“Of course it fucking matters.”

“You matter more,” Shiro says. Keith wonders if he means the words he doesn’t say: _to me._ And decides it’s enough to live with.

-

“Tell me this. At the warehouse, was it you?”

It was an ambush really, Keith realizes that now but he didn’t think of it when Shiro said he wanted to go to IGF after-hours. To talk. They were back from Cairo and business was slow.

“What?” Veronica says. She hugs herself after she finishes locking the storage room, turning to Shiro with a genuinely confused expression.

“Was it you? Were you the one that tipped Sendak?” Shiro throws the butt of his last cigarette in the trashcan by the register. It’s his sixth one of the day. Keith noticed this only because he had bought him a fresh pack this morning and had started to think he’d blow through it before noon. He makes a mental note to buy him a new one tomorrow, but quickly reminds himself that’s not his job.

“Shiro, you’re officially paranoid,” Veronica says. Shiro had begun to pace, no longer having his cigarette to fixate on. His hands shake out in front of him in anger when she calls him paranoid.

“Answer me,” he says, still pacing. The motion essentially blocks her in and Keith wonders if that was his intention. Stuck between a wall and hard (headed) place.

“No!” She hugs herself tighter and recedes into the storage room door, and Keith notes that if she hadn’t just locked it she would’ve fallen right through with the force like she’s willing to meld into the wall if it lets her.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Shiro says, and he stops walking.

Veronica’s eyes are wide and wild, and she looks at Keith like she’s asking him to defend her. He almost does, reaching forward to place a hand on Veronica’s shoulder.

Shiro’s hand clasps around the width of Keith’s wrist, the resounding slap echoing through the halls to remind him that they’re alone.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shiro hisses, inching closer. From this distance Keith can see Shiro’s silver eyes glowing with rage. _Silver silver silver._

“Are you trying to stop me?” Keith says lowly. It wasn’t a challenge, so much as a reminder.

Shiro's grip loosens then, and he begins to let go reluctantly. Each finger unwrapping one by one from his arm. He straightens and pulls back, still looking at Keith.

“It’s your decision,” Shiro says, his head shaking like he already knew the answer.

When no one moves or speaks for several deafening seconds, he speaks again.

“Veronica,” he whispers, and somehow that’s scarier. “If you don’t find him in three weeks time I’ll consider this a sting. And you’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘IGF Mobile.’”

With that, he walks out. He goes out the back door, Keith thinks precisely for the finality that the slam gives to his exit.

“Lance is my family,” Veronica says, picking at her edges of her long sleeved t-shirt and not looking at Keith. The weather was just beginning to get cold enough to get away with it, and Keith thinks for a fleeting moment it makes her look smaller—not younger, just smaller. IGF Mobile was starting to feel very dark and very lonely. He could choke on the emotion that wells in his throat. This is what it feels like to betray your best friend and the man you like (love) in one fell swoop.

“And Shiro is mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Much love. x


	5. V. As you were

_How did you know, back at the warehouse_ , Keith asks Pidge one day, right when she’s heading out of HQ, _that Krolia was my mother_. She has her phone in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other. The picture of unbothered. The sun glints off of her sunglasses and she raises them to look him in the eye.

_You look so much like her._

_It belonged to your mother,_ Shiro had said. So many thoughts and words and opinions about his mother people held that he’d never be able to confirm if they were true or not. Everyone knew her better than he ever did. _She died in a blaze of glory._ Code for: firefight. 

_Fire_ , Keith had chuckled.

_What is it?_

_Nothing, just something that follows me around I guess._

In the final days before he and Veronica had deserted, he had truly felt it might leave Shiro truly unhinged. He realizes now he never should have questioned Shiro’s mental state because if can credit the man with anything it’s stubbornness—even with himself.

When Keith had given him the courtesy of breaking the news of his exit from the Blade, Shiro had uncurled his fingers till the bandages unfurled from his palm, his nostrils flaring with the motion. Keith had known that face—too well actually. He had reached out till his hand rested on the back of his, not caring of the blatant, public act of intimacy the gesture had entailed. _Don’t._

Keith’s decision was more of a resignation before he was outright booted, out of respect than anything else. The end was in sight regardless and they had both known it. Shiro had told him as much in the midst of one their routine missions. 

_Stay behind me, Keith_ , Shiro had urged. The breath of his words blowing against the skin of Keith’s neck. Keith resisted the urge to reach back till his fingers twined with Shiro’s in a gesture of reassurance—of security. He didn’t always have to be the one doing the protecting. Instead, he bit back.

_ Don’t tell me what to do. _

_Baby,_ he whispered.

Keith knew it was meant to be an insult, but his head whipped around toward Shiro anyway. His eyebrows shooting up in insinuation. Shiro seemed to get the hint because his head lowered like he’s trying to hide a blush. Keith had turned back to the wall and called it a victory. But the taste of it hadn’t lasted long because Shiro quickly added:

_ Careful, or I might just have another reason to kick you out. _

Unwound bandages and silver, silver eyes. When it came to it, Keith had spun the dagger in his hand, feeling the weight of it—emotional or otherwise—and he let it drop to the floor with a clatter. Then he left, headquarters and any life he could’ve had at the Blade. 

All these memories had come rushing back to him in flashes, like his mind was trying to remind him why Shiro was angry at him and why this was so worth it, why he had gone back to the life of empty streets and emptier stomachs. He had truly gone rogue this time, banking on the newly acquired talents he had earned at the Blade. 

Presently, he was in the middle of a contract gone wrong. A fight had ensued, the target was fighting back and Keith was getting antsy. 

It lasts and spans till the only sensation Keith knows is the feeling of flesh against teeth. Iron and wood. Bandages and steel. Striking with an iron crowbar, rust tapering the edge of it. 

And just when his stamina is starting to wear thin, he can feel the distinct hilt of his mother’s blade fall into his hand from above. _Shiro_.

He turns back but he’s nowhere in sight, Keith does what he knows and uses this to his advantage.

“Listen, I’m Galra,” he says, his arms raised in faux-surrender as he rises from his crouch, dagger in hand. The target for the contract had fallen to the floor below him, sweat glistening on his face in fat drops. “I’m on your side.” With flashing yellow eyes, Keith loosens his grip on the dagger like he might drop it. Then, in the last second he makes his move, slashing at the man’s face. The kill was immediate and he relishes in the victory for as long as Shiro allows him.

He can feel a body creeping up from behind. Till a bandaged hand wraps around his mouth and stays there. 

With a shove, he’s against the wall in an instant—so hard the concrete splinters and splits from where Keith’s head lands. Groaning, his chin swings forward toward his chest, his vision a blur of red and whites—a single, small blade coming to rest at his jaw.

Shiro bleeds on the bicep of his human arm. Keith reaches up to rest his index finger on the wound. He blows air out through his teeth, leveling the dagger at Keith’s neck as strands of his white hair shiver slightly in the breeze.

“Did it happen again?” Keith mocks, and feels the sharp metallic taste of blood spreading onto his teeth when he smiles. “Were we set up for the same mission?”

He answers with a kiss that’s blinding as it is binding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally meant to be a one-shot (ancient proverb probably). But I realized there was a bigger story there I wanted to write. So here we are. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Until next time. x


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